


Playing Yenaro in Vorbarr Sultana

by Minutia_R



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I've always wanted to," said René.  "And they already call me Count Ghembretten.  Why in the world shouldn't I?"</i></p><p><i>"Ah, the old what's-the-worst-they-can-do-to-me," Tatya sighed.  "It's not likely to cause more scandal than Lord Vorkosigan's last dinner party, anyway."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Yenaro in Vorbarr Sultana

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha) in the [2011_bujold_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2011_bujold_fest) collection. 



"I've always wanted to," said René. "And they already call me Count Ghembretten. Why in the world shouldn't I?"

Tatya stopped fussing with her earring and met her husband's bright eyes in the mirror. René missed the army, Tatya sometimes feared. Well, if he needed excitement in his life, better this than loose women. Although that, she reflected, letting her eyes travel down the beautiful length of his body, immaculate in evening clothes, would not have been a challenge for René.

"Ah, the old what's-the-worst-they-can-do-to-me," she sighed. "It's not likely to cause more scandal than Lord Vorkosigan's _last_ dinner party, anyway."

"That's the spirit." The shadow of a smile on René's face was echoed by the whisper of clasps sliding shut on the smooth plastic case. He cradled the case in one arm and offered the other to Tatya, who shrugged her shoulders to settle her wrap and took it. They went down to the groundcar together.

Outside the car the city was cold and bright, but inside it was warm. Tatya tried to relax. Was there such a thing as social post-traumatic stress disorder, when every whisper seemed to go off like a bomb?

Olivia Koudelka, with Count Dono at her shoulder, met them when they got to Vorkosigan house. Her hug knocked Tatya's breath out, and it was a minute before she stepped back and saw what René was holding.

"Oh!" said Olivia. "Are you going to play, René?"

"We did clear it with Lord Vorkosigan," Tatya assured her.

Olivia laughed. "Why would you need to clear it with Miles? He has all the musical taste of a, a politically-inclined hog."

 _But he owns Vorkosigan Vashnoi._ Oblivious, Olivia went on to tell Dono what a treat he was in for, if he hadn't heard René before. René made an attempt at a modest smile—modesty was not his strong point—and slipped an arm around Tatya's waist.

Lord Vorkosigan's first answer had been _absolutely not_. But Madame Vorsoisson—Ekaterin—had wandered into the vid pickup and said, "I've never heard it—"

"What, never?" Lord Vorkosigan had said. "Not in recording or anything?"

Ekaterin had shrugged. "I had a very traditional upbringing. And then—well—I don't know. It's supposed to be lovely, though."

"Right," Lord Vorkosigan had said. "Don't come without your fiddle, René."

And here they were. "I didn't realize there would be this many people," Tatya said.

"Miles always means to invite just a few friends," said Dono. "But he has so many friends."

Lord Vorkosigan certainly had a winning personality, and Tatya would always be grateful to him—but she wondered if his popularity was due at least as much to the skills of his cook. The woman could do things with vat beef—like the carpaccio brought out for the first course—that were indecently sensual for mixed company.

Ekaterin's father, seated at Tatya's right, was only picking at his. He was a weathered, insignificant-looking man who seemed ill-at-ease in his future son-in-law's opulent house, or maybe among his future son-in-law's very energetic, not to mention august, friends. A little gentle encouragement from Tatya led him to tell her proudly about his children, all of whom, as far as she could tell, had gotten away from South Continent and Sasha Vorvayne himself as fast as they possibly could.

When dinner was over, the entire party—or mob, as Tatya couldn't help thinking of it—retired to the library. Professora Vorthys and Duv Galeni were having a heated and slightly drunken argument about the role of cavalry at the Battle of Tau's Gap, and Ivan Vorpatril was making up to a relative of the Empress' who had stayed on Barrayar after the wedding to pursue some business interests. Half-a-dozen quieter conversations were going on, too, but they all went silent when René took his violin out of its case—even Martya Koudelka's Escobarran, once she shushed him.

René started with a traditional country dance from the District. No one was quite drunk enough to start dancing, but it was a lively, pretty, inoffensive tune, and one of Tatya's favorites, even so. Professora Vorthys, flushed from her argument, grinned and rested her head on her husband's shoulder, and Simon Illyan tapped his foot. René ended the song with a flourish of his bow, and started a very old Earth piece, a chaconne by Bach. A more profound silence settled over the room, and Tatya shivered as René drew the first pure, long note of it out of the violin.

René was a pleasure to watch as well as to hear, length of arm and finger, movements of the wrist that seemed almost accidental, as if he were being moved by the current of the music instead of producing it. From the corner of her eye, Tatya caught a glimpse of Ekaterin's mouth slightly open in delight, and Lord Vorkosigan looking smug by her side.

Tatya's breath came out in a sigh as René brought the chaconne to a close. She couldn't have been holding it the whole time, it only felt like that. If he stopped now—but he didn't. Barely a pause, then he played the first notes of _Beila's Disintegration._

People blinked and shook their heads, coming out of the spell of Bach. Most of them were simply puzzled by the tonal structure, unfamiliar to Barrayaran ears. Only a few had already identified the song—Lady Alys' hand clenched on Simon Illyan's knee, Byerly Vorrutyer's eyes lit with mischief, and Sasha Vorvayne stood stiffly and left the room.

Tatya's heart was racing, her breath was coming too fast, she felt like her dinner was about to come back up, and it had nothing to do with the stately procession of notes René was playing. _Don't be ridiculous, girl. He's a harmless old man. He can't do anything to you._ He was being brave, standing up for his principles when nearly everyone here outranked him in every way. And Tatya was a coward, broken.

She tried to breathe deeply, evenly, and the music was also a struggle for breath, a desperate, nerve-thrilling, wavering rise. There was a tension in René's shoulders and jaw, an effort to maintain a control that was usually effortless.

In most of the Nexus, the composer Lord Nawd Yenaro was more famous than his older brother, the ghem-General. There had been twenty years between the brothers, and, Cetagandan-style, they probably hadn't shared many genes. But it was after his brother's defeat at the hands of the Barrayaran forces and subsequent suicide that Nawd Yenaro had composed _Beila's Disintegration_ , widely considered to be his masterpiece. One didn't perform it in public, on Barrayar.

René's fingers moved frantically now, and the song followed in swirls and unexpected swoops. It wasn't mourning; it was doubt, and terror, and the unmaking of everything certain. Because his father had been killed by Cetagandans, René was driven to play this, here, knew it so well there was no hesitation, though Tatya had never heard him play it before. Because he couldn't bring himself to conceive a son, with the minefield of his genes. Because.

The music slowed as it had begun, but the stateliness was lost. One note followed another, halting, off balance. There was no peace, only an end. No one spoke as René replaced the violin in its case with shaking hands.

And then he looked at Tatya, crossed the room to her and touched her cheek, which was wet. "I'm sorry, Tatya," he said. "I didn't mean—"

"No, I'm glad you played it," Tatya said. "But I'll never understand. How could a ghem-lord have written something so perfectly Barrayaran?"


End file.
